To Die Young
by quaffleswithsyrup
Summary: James Potter never guessed that he would die at age 21. His life never gave him any hints about what was to come. He just lived in the moment, one year at a time.


**Disclaimer: **No, I am not J.K. Rowling. Never was, never will be. I don't own these characters. I just borrowed them. Rated T for character death and mild language.

_To Die Young_

James Potter was eleven years old and it was his first day at Hogwarts. He'd met a boy on the train named Sirius who seemed nice enough, and there were some other boys in his dorm, and they seemed pretty cool too, James thought. That one boy Remus had scars all over his face, and that Peter seemed quiet and sweet. And James hadn't really talked to Frank much, but, oh boy, Frank sure had talked to Alice Fortescue a lot. And the candles in the Great Hall were all lit up, and the food smelled really amazing, and it tasted pretty good, too. James understood, now, what his parents meant when they talked about this place. It was wonderful. And - oh - James was a Gryffindor, "where dwell the brave at heart!" There couldn't have been a better place for him. And James had been able to see the lights and the happiness and the beauty from the moment he entered Hogwarts, and at that moment he never could have guessed he was going to die young.

James Potter was twelve years old and he didn't know what to do. He couldn't know what to do, really. He'd been taught all his life that werewolves were dangerous. But he also knew his friend Remus; they'd only been friends for a year and he could already tell that Remus was the kind of person James really liked having as a friend. But werewolves were monsters, James thought, at least that's what he'd been told growing up - well, screw that, actually. Remus was his friend, and James wasn't going to abandon him. So James approached Remus and said something along the lines of, "I know, Remus, I'm sorry for avoiding you but I just didn't know what to say, and I promise I won't leave you alone, because we're friends and friends love each other no matter what, don't they?" and then Remus started crying and hiccuping and being generally sappy, and James really tried not to be all emotional and girly but he was, and there they were, hugging each other, holding each other, and at that moment he never could have guessed he was going to die young.

James Potter was thirteen years old and he was really very tired. He'd been up till 4 a.m. last night (or was it this morning, really?) putting itching powder into the Slytherins' robes. Sirius had giggled while they were doing it, made some joke he thought was funny but wasn't - "I SIRIUSly hope we don't get in trouble," it had been - and Remus had made sure that they were bending the rules without necessarily breaking them - "But, Professor, we technically weren't out of bed at night because we didn't head to the laundry till 1 a.m. and it was already morning at that point" - and Peter had laughed and suggested they take pictures on his camera so that they could remember the moment - "Hang on a minute, mates, I'll get my polaroid!". James had been so pleased. There they all were, just enjoying each others' company, really just spending time together with the added bonus of frustrating the Slytherins. Especially Snivellus - maybe then he'd stop hanging around with Lily Evans so much - Lily Evans, she had looked awfully nice the other day - and James's thoughts drifted off, and at that moment he never could have guessed he was going to die young.

James Potter was fourteen years old and poor Peter was sniffling in his arms. "It'll be okay, Pete, yeah?" James said, holding Peter close. "I'm sure you can't have failed that badly." And then Peter burst into a fresh bout of tears and said thickly, "But I did. I just don't understand Transfiguration like you all do. I'm really no good at any of my subjects, actually, I don't even know why any of you bother to hang around with me - " And James, sitting there with Peter, knew this was important. It was a defining moment, right here; Peter had never confessed anything of this magnitude to James before. Peter'd always been so insecure, James knew that, Peter had always felt like he didn't belong. But he did. Merlin, he did. And James needed to make sure he knew that. "Ah, Pete, but you're so good at Charms! Oi, listen, if you help me get my Cheering Charm right, I'll help you in Transfiguration, okay? I'm pretty good at it." And never mind that James had already perfected his Cheering Charm, because Peter was smiling again, and he didn't look so desperately lonely now. And so they just sat there for a while, friends, best friends, healing each other - Peter was moving his wand side to side as James taught him how to turn a bat to a goblet - and at that moment he never could have guessed he was going to die young.

James Potter was fifteen years old and a drenched Sirius was standing on his doorstep. The rain was pouring down Sirius's face, but that wasn't what made the whole scene strange; it was that Sirius - the confident, the rebellious, the bold - was crying. He was slouching, his eyes defeated, his face defeated, his body defeated, his heart defeated, his soul defeated. And then he looked up at James, and he said in a very small voice, "I didn't know where else to go." And this boy, this boy that was James's brother, seemed so destroyed. So James just ran forward without a second thought, and he took Sirius into his arms, he took his brother into his arms, and he didn't say anything. He let Sirius cry and cry and cry, and he thought maybe if he held Sirius long enough, some of those broken pieces would shift back together again. They stayed like that for a long time until James said, "Well, are you coming in? I was just about to go to bed so you can come on up to your room - " because of course Sirius had a place in the Potter household, he always had since that very first year. And Sirius smiled because this was what he needed right now. And they headed into James's house, and they walked up to their rooms, joking and laughing the whole time, and Mr. and Mrs. Potter didn't really question it because Sirius had always been their son. But Sirius decided that he couldn't face sleeping alone tonight - so he slept in James's room, in James's bed, like family. And James fell asleep loving Sirius like brothers do, and at that moment he never could have guessed he was going to die young.

James Potter was sixteen years old, and it was Christmas. He and his friends were spending the break at his house, all staying together for the holidays, because this was one year they just couldn't bear to be separated. There was Sirius, lounging by the fire in a leather jacket (Because when was Sirius not wearing a leather jacket, James thought). And there was Remus, a few fresh scratches running along his face and arms, commenting dryly on what Peter was saying (Because when was Remus not being sarcastic, James thought). And there was Peter, dramatically reading out the love letter to Lily he'd found in James's closet (Because when was Peter not just having fun, James thought). "Alright, enough," James laughed. "Maybe we should stop revealing all my secrets to the world." But of course Peter didn't stop, because he was simply enjoying life, and then Sirius said, "Secrets?", and Remus said, "Mate, since when has your crush on Lily been a secret?" and James would have reddened or had the decency to be embarrassed, except he was James Potter and he never got embarrassed. So he said, very seriously, "No, I really think I might have a chance now!" And Peter actually stopped reading long enough to start giggling and say, "Prongs, mate, I reckon you would have had a chance with Evans a long time ago if it hadn't been for - you know - you." And James had chucked a pillow at Peter's head - "Oh, is that so, Pettigrew?" - and it had been returned - "I reckon so." And soon it had been a full-out pillow fight, like they were twelve again, and at that moment he never could have guessed he was going to die young.

James Potter was seventeen years old, and had he ever cried this hard before? It seemed like the whole world was moving too fast. James was still only seventeen, that was it, but now he had to leave Hogwarts and go out and face the real world. He had to face the war, and the bloodshed, and Mary's family had already been murdered, damn it. He had to go out and leave his home and his life behind, and he had to face things no one should have to face. And everyone else knew it, too. Remus, beside him, was crying, his face buried in James's shoulder. Sirius was looking around the place - "Goodbye, Hogwarts," came the soft whisper that James was sure only he heard. Peter was talking about the future like it was perfect, golden, like "happy" was some shade of forever. Lily was clutching Marlene's arm, agreeing with Peter, the two of them going back and forth and talking about how bright the horizon was. But it wasn't, and everyone knew it. Everyone was trying to hold off the feelings of resentment they had towards this earth, this screwed up earth, and it took so much out of them. They were all hurting then, all so afraid. It was painful. It was painful to look around Hogwarts and remember a time when things were simpler. But James knew that even now they were together, and that was something, and at that moment he never could have guessed he was going to die young.

James Potter was eighteen years old and he was kissing Lily Evans like he never had before. No, wait - Lily Potter, that was it. He would have to get used to that. No more calling her Evans, then, it would have to be Potter. He smiled inwardly. Lily Potter. It was beautiful, wasn't it? And they were melting into each other, letting themselves forget everything - letting themselves forget the war, and the Order, and the deaths, and how Caradoc had vanished last week, and how they had only ever found pieces of Benjy. The only thing that mattered, right now, was each other. So they fell into each other, leaning into the depths of each others' hearts, and when they broke apart, James was breathless. Tears glistened in his eyes, and he heard the deafening roar of happiness thundering behind his ears. And when he and Lily sat down together, their fingers intertwined, and Sirius got up to give the best man speech, James had to hold back even more tears. Because Sirius's speech was just - perfect, and now Sirius was crying too, and Remus, and Peter, and almost everyone at the ceremony, because this whole thing was perfect. James and Lily were perfect. The world was perfect. Everyone forgot, for just a few hours, that anything like war had ever existed. Everyone forgot, for just a few hours, what life was. "Do you want to dance?" James asked Lily, his voice delicate and nervous. And Lily, looking radiant with happiness and trust, whispered "Yes." So they danced through the night, forgetting everything and knowing only each other, knowing only the others' hearts and souls and promises, and at that moment he never could have guessed he was going to die young.

James Potter was nineteen years old and Remus was crying at his kitchen table. Crying because "Damn it, Prongs, the war isn't fair! It doesn't care who you are, or what you were, or the friends you had. It doesn't care, Prongs, it doesn't care." And Remus was slowly losing it now, his words becoming more and more incomprehensible as his sobs thickened. And he dropped his head into his hands, his cries muffled now, and he looked so shattered. James knew he was right. The war didn't care about who you were - the Death Eaters didn't - Voldemort didn't. They all just cared about what they could take from you. James heard a scream pierce the air - Lily was in the bathroom right now, breaking down, refusing to accept that her best friend Marlene was dead. Because the war wasn't fair, it wasn't, and Remus was still crying at James's kitchen table. James was slowly losing it, too, just like Remus, he was falling apart, but he had to keep it together. He had always been the glue, the person to keep everyone else whole. He couldn't let himself fall to pieces. "Oh, Rem," he said, putting his hand on Remus's arm. "I'm sorry." And he was. And there were tears in his eyes too, now - tears in his eyes, but he was supposed to be the glue. And another scream - there was Lily again, crying in the bathroom. And could James even tell Remus that Peter and Sirius both suspected him of being the spy? Surely Remus had guessed already - the whole Order suspected Remus, everyone but James and Lily - but did he know that two of his closest friends thought he was a Death Eater? Trusted him so little? James didn't know, but James couldn't tell him, because James was falling apart, the glue was falling apart. So they sat there, Lily's screams periodically ringing through the kitchen, they both sat there and held each other and cried and broke and the war wasn't fair, but even then it seemed distant, and at that moment he never could have guessed he was going to die young.

James Potter was twenty years old and he didn't understand. "Lily, what do you mean?" he asked faintly, feeling weak. "We can't - can't have a baby, not now. Can't bring a baby into this awful, sick world." Sirius didn't come 'round anymore, neither did Peter or Remus, really, and the world was completely broken. And here was James's wife, telling him there was going to be a baby. But - there couldn't be a baby, just couldn't be - and Lily suddenly gripped James's arm, and she whispered, "But who knows if we'll ever have another chance?" And then James laughed incredulously, because damn it, they were having a baby. They were having a baby, but who knew if they were going to survive this damn war? Who would take care of it when they were gone, if they were gone? Where would the baby go? Would the baby even live, or would it die along with everyone else James had cared about? Dorcas was gone now, too, and Frank and Alice may as well have been. Everyone was gone, dead, gone, dead - damn war - and Sirius and Remus and Peter could have been dead for all they came around. All of James's life was crumbling, and now he was having a baby. He would have to be a father, a damn father, and he wasn't ready for this yet. He was too young, and his world was still too messed up. But then Lily said, her voice filled with absolute certainty, "I'm scared, too, James. But you're going to be an excellent dad." And James - all of a sudden, it hit him - a baby. He was going to have a beautiful son or daughter. And he somehow smiled, somehow, even though all of it hurt so much, and at that moment he never could have guessed he was going to die young.

James was twenty-one years old and he was screaming. "LILY, TAKE HARRY AND GO!" He didn't have his wand, didn't have time to get to his wand. Because Voldemort was right here, right now, and he had to give them time to get away, he had to stall. He wouldn't let them die. Not Lily Potter (James called with a smile, "Will you go out with me, Evans?" She seemed to consider for a moment, but finally she looked at him, and she said, "Yes," and his heart leapt)and not Harry (James cradled Harry and laughed as Harry grabbed the glasses off of James's face. "I reckon he'll be a bloody good Seeker some day," James remarked) and not anyone, not today. James wouldn't let them die. So he tried to hold Voldemort off, tried to protect them, tried to do what he'd always done best, hold them together, be the glue. But all of a sudden - a flash of green light - the feeling of nothing being good - and at that moment James Potter suddenly knew he was going to die young.


End file.
